"I told you to do laundry last night."
"I realize this now, Alice, that maybe I should have thought this through a little more but could you just go and look in your closet for some fucking shirt." Belial, snarled, his lip curling in a funny way that made his scars turn into squiggles. He always had his scars at home, which now without a shirt was a lot to take in. It stopped bothering me now a days, but regardless he was still fussy about it. Thought at the moment, instead of thinking about his scars, I should be heading to the room to look for something to wear.
I should have just thrown one of his shirts into the wash just in case last night. Belial never did his laundry like he was supposed to, it was always a few days late no matter what. By now I should have picked up on that and given up, but what could I say--we were both pretty fucking stubborn when it came to each other.
Thumbing through the shirts in my closet, I knew exactly where I was going with this one. He'd throw a fit, yes, but it'd be totally worth it. So I yanked the shirt off the hanger and came back into the living room, holding it out to him.
"Fuck. No." He growled, his face twisting like I had just showed him some dead armadillo on the side of the road.
"What? Why? Don't be a fucking little kid, about it Bel." I huffed, shaking the shirt at him some more. Of course he would be a child. He would pout and throw a little tantrum until he got what he wanted, whatever it would take. For a five hundred year old demon he sometimes loved to act like he was just--well, five.
"I'm not promoting his band." He spat out the substitute like it was the real name. As if it was too fucking bitter for him to keep down or he was feeling that punch to the nose again.
I swallowed my giggles that were scratching at my throat, my lips turning into a tiny smile that he scowled at. "Come on, just put the fucking shirt on."
"Alice, I will fucking parade around without a shirt before I put that disgusting promotional t-shirt on my body." He spat, still not breaking out of his typical formal talk. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure he talks like this in serious conversations in hopes that I'll maybe take him seriously. Apparently he hadn't noticed that I still thought he was a fucking asshole and stupid by this point.
"Oh my god, it's the band." Here we go, the topic. It was always like this, he turned into a fucking little kid when we got on it. I could never understand how he could do that. He wasn't like this when we talked about Azrael or Gabriel, but god forbid the name of Galen Howard leaves your lips and it starts a whole fucking facade. "It doesn't fucking say his name on it Bel. It's not like it's a shirt that says 'I love Galen Howard' on it."
"Your point?" He huffed, crossing his arms and tilting up his nose. "I refuse to associate myself with him. If you choose to do so, which you do, that is your poor choice."
My poor choice? My poor choice was choosing not to smother him with a pillow last night when he wouldn't stop snoring like a fucking jumbo jet. Being friends with Galen though? That was far from a poor choice, Galen was practically the nicest guy I knew and much like anyone else who had an 'experience' with Bel he pretty much had a right to hate his guts.
"Oh my god, he hurt your ego. So what, are you going to fucking write him love letters about it?"
"He didn't hurt my ego, Alice. He broke my nose."
"AND YOU NEARLY KILLED HIM." I pronounced loudly, like it was going to drill through Bel's head somehow. It never did though, so I sometimes wondered why I even bothered. But it was still worth the shot some days.
Of course the sadistic bastard shrugged it off, looking over at the television as it went over some hot topics in Demon politics. "Mmm, still not wearing it."
"Belial the fourth, I swear to fucking god if you do not get yourself into this goddamn shirt. I am going to turn this fucking room into your worst goddamn nightmare, I will fill it with five hundred goddamn Galens if I have to." Yes, he was finally pissing me off. I wanted coffee, I wanted books, and I wanted to get out of this goddamn apartment finally after being sick. No fucking Prince of Hell was going to ruin my plans and if it required some illusion work, I would goddamn do it.
"Fine." Bel grunted, reaching out for the shirt. "I'm not going to fucking like it though."
"You made sure I knew that, shut the fuck up and put it on." I waved him off, grabbing my bag off the counter.
"There."
Bel looked so uncomfortable, I snorted trying to hold back my laughter. He looked like someone had soaked the shirt for three hours in holy water and had flopped it onto him. He was stiff as a board and his eyes were of course sending hate beams into me. But I was amused. Taking out my phone, I aimed it at him.
"Don't you fucking dare, Alice Sylvia Luxe. I will fucking throw that thing out the window."
Click and send.
I believe I have won this one, my good sir Howard. Sushi dinner is on you, broski.
